From the Brink of Darkness
by Aria Illusine
Summary: Non-Mass ItaSaku, At age 11, Itachi has already become a skilled assassin, newly initiated into the ranks of Konoha's ANBU. Efficient, deadly, and emotionless, it's an unexpected encounter with a six-year-old girl that sparks a change. Rated for blood.


My THIRTIETH fic on site! I was saving this one (for like, a day...) to make sure it was my thirtieth while I finished up 23 Cupcakes XD. But that being said, I've had this idea for a while, since BEFORE With Practice actually, which was kind of amusing because one of my reviewers mentioned she wanted to see a story about Itachi and Sakura concentrating on their childhoods. Well, amusingly enough, it was already in the works XD.

A word to the wise, this might be a taaaad darker than my usual, and a bit more introspective, but it's Itachi we're talking/writing about ^^.

Please enjoy!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, not making any money off of this. Naruto's the property of Kishimoto, though I wish the show and manga were mine...hey, a girl can dream, right?

* * *

**From the Brink of Darkness**

Blood gushed from the merchant's carotid, splashing over pristine tatami mats in hot spurts as he gurgled with terror and desperately pressed crimson-drenched hands to his throat. It was too late. His life was already ebbing away as he swiveled his head to and fro in a desperate attempt to locate his killer. But the shadows stared back at him with mocking emptiness; he couldn't even call for his bodyguards as he fell to his knees and clawed the air for help. His fingers were still reaching when his heart stopped.

A slim preteen crouched in the shadows that shrouded the inn-room's ceilings, avoiding the dying man's arterial pray as he waited out the termination of his assignment.

A less professional shinobi might have been tempted to gloat, but Itachi felt nothing more than faint satisfaction at a well-executed mission as he watched the man expire below. The merchant had been mercantile scum, economic rot left to fester for too long, until he'd felt secure enough in his wealth to make a side business of blackmail and extortion. Fire Country's daimyo had commissioned Konoha's ANBU for his assassination. _Discreetly._ And so, he had been dealt with.

Sneaking past the guards had been relatively simple. Slitting his throat had been no challenge at all.

Itachi waited another quarter-hour to make certain no one was aware the man no longer remained among the living before slipping out the room's window and away.

A sliver of moon illuminated the deserted inn-grounds as the young ANBU slid through half-light and shadows. At nearly three in the morning, the entire place felt hollow. Dead. Even the heaviest drinkers at the hotel's bar had staggered to their rooms to pass out on their futons. The night was his alone.

Undisturbed, Itachi made his way past the stable yard and onsen, still-bloody kunai kept out in one hand. After all, Uchiha clan members were perfect; there was no point in being careless just because his mission had been successfully completed. The trees loomed in the distance, the night's gentle breeze dwindling to nothingness until silence hung heavy in the chilly air.

Grass rustled.

Before his mind even processed the fact that the lack of wind meant the noise couldn't be natural, instinct lunged.

The culprit was pinned beneath him before either had a chance to draw breath.

It was only then that he realized, the bloody kunai poised for the downward stroke that would sever another's throat that night, that the victim staring up at him with wide, curious eyes was a tiny little girl.

A fat, viscous drop of blood rolled off the end of the bladed weapon, splattered against the child's face, and slid down her cheek like a dark tear.

Itachi didn't wonder why such a young girl, who couldn't have been more than six years old, was wandering outside alone in the dead of night. He felt no curiosity why her face reflected only mild consideration when confronted with the terrifying, anonymous visage of an ANBU mask. Straddling the little girl's abdomen with his knees gently, but firmly, pressed across the child's wrists to keep her immobilized, Itachi knew his orders.

ANBU protocol dictated that all witnesses be terminated.

Gripping her chin with a gauntleted hand, he pushed her head back and to the right, exposing the delicate flesh of her neck and pressed the kunai to her throat.

Metal clinked against metal.

In the barely-there moonlight, the chain of a necklace gleamed as it slid out from under her nightshirt. A leaf-shaped pendant followed, a small silver glimmer in the dark, a Konoha ID necklace.

The girl was a village resident.

A tiny flutter of surprise jarred him, bringing with it the gentle surge of awareness.

She was so _fragile_. A flick of his blade and she would be a broken doll on the dew-dampened grass, as lifeless as the assassinated merchant he had left behind. Her soft little breaths puffed against his fingers, proof of warmth and life. Her pulse fluttered against the kunai's razor-sharp edge.

The ease with which he could have snuffed out the life pinned beneath him was almost frightening.

It would have cost him no effort, simple in the same way killing the merchant had been.

But unlike the whey-faced man, the girl's pale eyes held no fear. She watched him with a child's quiet intensity. Her breathing was calm, as though she didn't feel the knife at her neck. It was almost like she couldn't comprehend his ability to bring death, even in the face of his blade and her own helplessness.

'_She has an ID necklace. She's shinobi-marked._' Any child wearing that Konoha-leaf symbol on a chain around their neck was pledged to start ninja training at the Academy when they turned nine. This little girl with her pale eyes and pale hair, he couldn't tell their colors in the darkness, could be a future subordinate. Teammate. Comrade.

It was logic he could accept. He could spare her for the potential she represented. It was a lie he could make himself believe.

It was something he could tell himself to silence the truth: that it was that strange, naïve innocence in her eyes that compelled him to pull the kunai back.

Her lips moved.

'_ANBU-san?_'

No sounds came from her, she was only mouthing the words, but he could read them clearly. '_I won't tell._'

With no more noise than a soft breeze, Itachi slid off the girl and straightened, bringing her to her feet, finding himself amused for the first time in months. She had no idea what he had been up to earlier that night, and yet here she was, promising not to say a word. The young ANBU found himself noting that the indiscriminately trusting nature she seemed to have was going to have to get eradicated during her training, and felt a stab of regret before he could crush the emotion.

Emotion.

It felt almost like it was coming from a long way off; the time he had spent training under first his father, then the jounin-sensei and ANBU-taishou he'd had earlier, had taught him to keep those muted so that he could better carry out his missions. Up until facing this strange, ghost of a girl, her coloring grey and pale in the moonlight, their advice had served him well.

The kunai in his hand, still wet with a dead man's blood, felt suddenly foreign.

With a fluid motion, he cleaned the kunai and tucked it back into its thigh sheath, and then pushed up the ANBU mask covering his features to get a better look at the strange girl.

Baby fat was evident in the softness of her features, though Itachi could already see that she would one day develop a strong chin, evidence of a stubborn personality. The down-like hair was shoulder length and loose, gently tied back by a dark ribbon so that the strands wouldn't fall into her luminous eyes. She wore a nightshirt that was a size too big, and capri-length pajama pants patterned with grinning stars. Her Konoha ID necklace shone with an almost surreal brightness in the gloom.

"Not a word?" he asked in a hushed whisper, his eyes fixed on the girl's face.

"Sakura won't tell," she repeated, her whisper half-mouthed still. "Sakura knows the rules: outside Konoha, no shinobi talk."

Itachi contemplated the little girl as she tugged at her shirtsleeves so that they covered her hands, obviously cold from the night's chill. Her parents had taught her the usual creed for individuals leaving the safety of the village: as long as you weren't within Konoha's walls, you didn't speak of your affiliation in case rival villages used you for ransom, or possibly insurance.

Finally, deciding Itachi wasn't going to respond to her statement, Sakura began rubbing her palms over plump cheeks, only succeeding in spreading the sticky, swiftly-drying blood across her face in a rust-colored smudge.

Something in the ANBU rebelled seeing that smear, like a dark taint, on the girl's luminously pale skin. A quiver started in her lower lip at his sudden frown, but faded when he swept up dewy moisture from the grass with a leather-gloved hand and began rubbing away the blood from her cheek.

"Sakura," he spoke softly, almost afraid to spook the girl calmly subjecting herself to his ministrations. It seemed strange, practically encroaching on the bizarre, that she was so accepting of his touch when she seemed to be equally knowing of his capacity for death as an ANBU operative. She raised her eyes to his, calm from the gentle work of his blood-tainted fingers, at the sound of her name. "Can you make it back to your room by yourself?"

He wanted to get her back himself, but his ANBU captain would comment if he arrived at the meeting point much later than now. He didn't have the leisure to linger.

"Sakura can get back," the little girl replied solemnly, motionless as Itachi slid a thumb across the apple of her cheek.

"I need to leave," he told her, carefully watching the pale eyes for signs of upset. A crying child at three in the morning would case discovery of the dead merchant's body earlier than desired. But the girl's childish features merely crinkled into a small frown as she nodded her understanding. Itachi's obsidian eyes warmed with approval. He should have known that this extraordinary girl would not behave like other civilian children her age. She was shinobi-marked with good reason; he didn't doubt he would see her on the field one day.

"Go back to your room and go straight to sleep," he ordered, keeping her gaze locked with his to fully impress upon her the importance of his words. "Don't get up or leave your room again tonight, and stay in bed late."

The last thing he wanted was for her to get tangled up in the consequences of his actions that night.

"Go to bed, stay," the girl – Sakura, the name was imprinted in his mind – repeated.

"Good," said, reaching out involuntarily to touch that soft cheek one last time. "Goodbye, Sakura."

And then there was only the little girl standing in the moonlight.

…

She listened, listened hard, but there was only the rustle of leaves as the wind passed through. He was gone.

It would be silly to call out for the strange ANBU that had surprised her, she couldn't see him and he probably was too far away to hear her now. And it was cold. With all the decisiveness of a child, Sakura tried to burrow deeper into her oversized nightshirt and trundled back through the tall grass to the first floor in room she and her parents occupied.

It wasn't far and she still wasn't sleepy yet, so she rustled through tall grass utterly unperturbed as she made her way back. She rubbed her still-damp cheek with a shirtsleeve absentmindedly as she walked.

The ANBU-san had been nice. Not at all scary.

He had surprised her, jumping out of nowhere, but the mask hadn't turned her to stone like Ino had said it would.

It had kind of reminded her of a cat.

Smooth, bone-pale porcelain marked with dark slashes over the cheeks and forehead accented the cat theme. The face seemed grim, but the motions of the person under behind it had been strangely gentle, and she had not been afraid.

He had looked nice too.

His eyes had been dark, like the night, but much warmer than this chilly spring not-yet-dawn, and he had acted nice to her, much nicer than the kids at the park who chased her calling her Forehead. His hair had been silky and the perfect length for braiding. She had wanted to pet it while he talked to her, but she didn't know if that was allowed. Maybe ANBU had rules about hair touching.

Maybe he'd have let her anyway; his eyes had been warm looking at her, even though they were sad.

She was tempted to tell Ino all about her strange meeting in the middle of the night, but then Ino would want to know details, and maybe tell her parents that the cat-ANBU had put a kunai to her neck. And they might not agree to let her become a kunoichi.

A tiny frown marred Sakura's face at the thought.

No, better to keep the incident to herself. She had promised him that she wouldn't say anything about seeing him leave the inn that night; she could just remain silent on the matter.

She slipped through the shadows of the night to the inn window that led to the Haruno suite, nodding decisively to herself.

The window ledge to her parents' room was higher than she remembered, but she stood on tiptoe on the discarded crate someone had put there earlier that night, and scrambled up without too much trouble. It took only seconds to crawl over the ledge and into the soft warmth of the bedroom that echoed with the sound of her parents' breathing.

Her rumpled, empty little futon called to her, but she paused in the square of moonlight that streamed through the window.

The cat-ANBU was a Konoha-nin, like she was going to be. Little hands touched her neck, fingers pressed to her pulse in the same location the kunai had not too long ago. The links of the ID necklace were cool to the touch, in spite of how long it had been resting against her skin.

ANBU weren't allowed to talk about their missions, wearing those identity-stealing masks to keep themselves anonymous outside the confines of the village, but the cat-ANBU had pushed his mask up to talk to her, and she had seen his face. The keen, charismatic face, with its dark eyes and gently lined features, seemed as clear to her now as when she had first seen him under the monochromatic moonlight.

Maybe…if she worked really hard to be a good shinobi, she could become ANBU too, and see him again.

A little-girl's giggle, soft and innocent and naïve to think that it would be entering ANBU that would lead her back to the strange cat-masked youth who had tried, and yet, failed to kill her, softened the chill breeze that swept through the window. Her grin melted into a smile at the touch of the wind against her cheeks.

With a yawn, sleepiness finding her at last, Sakura crawled back into her futon, snuggling into the fabric like an over-affectionate kitten. From there it took only moment for sleep to claim her, but until she was wakened several hours later by a maid's scream of horror on discovering the murdered merchant, she dreamed of moonlight on porcelain masks like cats with a smile on her lips and eyelashes like pale lace resting on her cheeks.

…

"Itachi-nii!"

"Hello, Sasuke," the eleven-year-old said, sparing his brother only a moment's notice before turning his attention back to the scroll spread out on his lap.

The boy plopped down beside him, shifting his weight back and forth as he rocked from one side to the other with indecision before insinuating himself next to the older boy, graining to read the difficult kanji over Itachi's elbow.

Itachi glanced to the intensive expression sported by his younger sibling beside him, but said nothing. They stayed like that for long moments until—,

"What is that kanji?" A finger invaded his personal space, pointing ot a specific symbol as the little voice piped its question.

"Chakra."

"And that one?"

"Manipulation."

"And that—,"

"Sasuke," Itachi interrupted, "Don't you have something else you need to be doing?"

"Naru-I mean, some of the other shinobi kids are meeting up at the park to play ANBU and nuke-nin, but Kaa-san is too busy to take me," Sasuke responded, a note of petulance creeping into his tone.

So Sasuke would be confined to the house again today. Meaning that he, Itachi, would have to go elsewhere if he wanted a quiet moment to finish reading his scroll.

"Itachi-nii…"

The shy discomfort in his otouto's voice made it obvious what his question would be. With an inward sigh of resignation, Itachi turned to Sasuke with denial on the tip of his tongue, and saw the girl.

Not literally, of course. Sasuke did not really resemble a girl, even with his rounded, childish features. But the innocence in his eyes reminded Itachi of Sakura. There was the same sort of curious air about his otouto, the one that shinobi seemed to lose too quickly, that made Itachi pause.

He could remember so clearly the trust in her eyes as he wiped blood from her cheeks.

"I need to go to Hokage Tower today," Itachi said, almost without meaning to. "I can leave now." A small smile curved his lips at the sudden, wide-eyed delight that filled his brother's face. "Go put on your shoes while I return this to my room. I'll meet you at the front door."

It was strange how the impulse to laugh caught hold of him as Sasuke shot to his feet and rushed off to the entrance hall to collect his sandals. Stranger still because it had been so long since he could remember such a feeling.

For once, he didn't try to push it away, a flickering smile brushing his lips.

He really did have to visit Hokage Tower, to turn in a mission report at the Northwest archive room, so there was no harm in taking Sasuke to play his game. ANBU and nuke-nin…a game that mimicked what Itachi did for a living. There was no end to the irony in that, but, unlike the desire to laugh, he brushed that particular thought aside and turned down the hall to his bedroom.

It took mere moments to store his scroll, inform his mother of his intentions, and meet an anxiously excited Sasuke out by the front door. Under the warm, spring sunlight – it felt strange, like he had forgotten what the sun on his skin felt like and was relearning it all over again – he nodded towards the front gate, letting his brother rocket out like the child he still was.

Out front, two more children, nothing more than a blur of blonde and rose as they flew down the street trailing plumes of dust in laughing competition, filled the air with girlish laughter.

* * *

I have a dA! Well, I've had one for a while...but this deviantART is solely for fanart and Naruto stuff ^^ it's still a bit new, but I did put one cute pic up. It was from a scene that kinda-sorta decided to show up in my head as a sort of follow up to this chapter. This IS a oneshot though. If the muse decides to take this any further (looking into their relationship as children, it won't go any much older than what they're like now, unlike With Practice) it had better be AFTER I'm done with With Practice.

For those of you wondering about that, don't worry, I'm writing up the fifth chapter and just having a bit of trouble modulating Itachi's reactions. You'd think at twenty/twenty-one...well whatever ^^ I'm working on it and the muse is still whip-cracking, so never fear. A new chapter should be up in a few days ^^

Please leave a review to feed the ever-hungry muse! (And check my profile for the link to my dA if you're interested in seeing fanart ^^)

Aria, out.


End file.
